Stella reached for the medallion. “Look, this was hers and now we can bury Anna where she belongs, beside Elizabeth in St. Mary’s crypt.”
Poppy wanted to be pleased, she wanted to board the happy trolley, but she could still see Sorrel as pale as death itself, and anger rose unbidden.
“Oh fab, brill, no, really, this is great news,” she sneered. “Sorrel Sparrow, your handy dandy miracle worker, nearly succumbed to whatever shit has been brewing in that garden for generations, but by all means, let’s make sure the dead woman gets a decent burial. Well done to us!”
“Now listen here, madam,” Graham began.
“Oh shut up, you great clod,” Stella said. “Sorry, darling but you really have no standing here.”
Poppy had to stifle a laugh.
“Poppy, you are right, and wrong,” Stella said as she steered her to a seat. “Sorrel has suffered under our watch, but Anna did as well, and I believe, if you give it a little think, you will see that the circle has at last been rejoined. Anna will find her rest. Sorrel, thanks to you, and Patience, of course, has found her health again and, if all goes well, the garden will recover, the chapel will be consecrated, and you will forgive your father for his blinding drive to keep his family safe.”
“When you put it that way,” Poppy said. “Yeah, but no. Dad, you really have cocked it up this time.”
“And don’t I know it,” Graham said. “I am no better than Thomas, no more enlightened than the idiot Kirkwoods who trampled the original monastery to ruins and then thought to distract God and man by building a great estate and an even greater fortune.”
Poppy had no response.
“There is nothing I can do or say to undo what has come before, but I promise you, on my honor—not the honor of my forbearers, clearly—that I will never break trust with my family and the land we steward.” Graham crossed the kitchen and held out his hand as his bond. Poppy, naturally, shook it. What else could she do? And, honestly, what a relief it was to be a united front against whatever challenge came next, instead of a rabble of village idiots chasing shadows.
ANDREW LOOKED A bit shambolic the following morning as he tiptoed around the kitchen making coffee, spooning out yogurt and fruit into bowls and measuring out Sorrel’s next dose of remedy. She’d slept quietly through the night, no nightmares or restless movements. Andrew, on the other hand, had felt like bad origami as he folded his long frame in half just to keep from falling out of the chaise. It was a relief to rise with the light. If he’d learned anything about Sorrel these last weeks it was that she too would rise with the light, even if she felt like death on toast.
And he was right. Sorrel appeared in the kitchen, Andrew’s dressing gown even looser now. She was still pale and thin, but she was Sorrel again. Andrew gathered her gently into his arms. She smelled of summer air again, of green things, of living and growing, and Andrew felt tears threaten.
“I was awfully worried about you, my love,” Andrew said.
“I was awfully worried about me, too,” Sorrel said and nuzzled into Andrew’s chest. “But I think it’s past, whatever it was, and if I don’t get into that garden, there’ll be nothing for your altar come next Sunday.”
“Listen, there’s been a development,” Andrew said.
Sorrel tilted her head back to look at him. Her chin was sharp against his breastbone.
“It’s good, I think,” Andrew said. “At least it’s a resolution of sorts.”
He explained all that had transpired while Sorrel lay insensate. She listened, drawing away from him with each new revelation until she sat slumped in a chair with both elbows up on the table. Andrew brought her the remedy and a glass of water. Sorrel took it without noticing and then drank the entire glass down. Finally, Andrew came to the part about Anna and the chapel, and he saw a slight smile come to Sorrel’s lips.
“Coffee,” she said and reached out a hand.
“That’s it? Coffee?” Andrew said as he poured a mug. “No clever boy, no hallelujah?”
“I need to reorganize my brain before I can respond,” Sorrel said. “You know I had the oddest dream the other night, or maybe it was day. I can’t remember how long I’ve been sick. Anyway, my sisters and I were in this garden, here, and it was beautiful and unsullied, but then Patience mentioned Anna, and this filth began creeping through until everything was ruined.”
“That sounds dreadful, and all too real,” Andrew said.
“I know, except that my sisters were cruel to me, and that is never real or true. They told me I wasn’t any good on my own, that this garden couldn’t possibly thrive, and that I needed to go back to Granite Point with them.”
Andrew felt his heart clutch, the beat off, just a flutter as he took in Sorrel’s words. In the midst of her illness, the surreal garden horror, all the intrigue and revelations about the tapestries, Andrew had been able to put away the reality that Sorrel would leave him, and soon.
“That doesn’t seem very Sparrow-like,” he managed.
“No, it’s not,” Sorrel said and ate some yogurt. Yellow and red raspberries mixed with sliced peaches mounded her spoon. She ate silently for a minute or two until the yogurt was gone.
Andrew couldn’t have taken a single mouthful without gagging, and he wondered at Sorrel’s equanimity. He waited for her to add something for as long as he could and was about to dive in when she finally spoke into the quiet. He startled.
“I told them, my sisters, that I didn’t want to go home,” Sorrel said. “Not yet, at least.” She didn’t look up from her bowl.
“Oh, thank God,” Andrew said and pulled a chair over in front of her. He put his hands on her knees and pressed a flurry of kisses to her hands in her lap.
“I’m not sure I can swing it,” Sorrel said. “The Nursery needs me as much as my sisters do, but perhaps I could stay just a while longer to make sure the Shakespeare Garden recovers?”
Andrew just nodded. He didn’t trust his voice and he thought a whooping cheer was inappropriate, given the gravity of Sorrel’s choice.
“I’m going to dress,” Sorrel said. “Then can you take me to the garden?”
THE CORNER AT the back of the garden, Anna’s corner as Andrew thought of it, was still raw. The hole had been filled in, and Gabe had raked fresh, healthy soil over everything but there was no ignoring the lack of anything growing. Sorrel stepped carefully through the gate, holding Andrew’s elbow to steady her. The damage had stopped in its tracks, leaving the front parterres untouched. Beyond that almost everything would have to be replanted. And, depending on how receptive one was to fairy stories, those plants would either flourish in celebration of a wrong righted, or do no better than the last. Either way, Sorrel was eager to get started. She was too experienced to expect a Shakespeare Garden of full and florid bloom by the solstice, but she was determined that whatever she could do would be done.